


Red Molly's Reach

by Watergirl1968



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Reincarnation!AU, Rivarmin Fest, armin x levi, historical fiction - Freeform, rivaminfest, rivarmin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Molly's Reach is the story of Levi and Armin's deep bond; soulmates tied together across time by a simple song. Travel with them from ancient, Roman-occupied Germania, to Victorian-era Manhattan, and finally to San Francisco in the era of the civil rights movement. </p><p>The "canon" sections of the story are set in the Voices in the Bone AU. This AU is 5 years after diverging from the canon story. Armin is almost 20. In VIB, Levi has taken Armin under his wing as a protege, teaching him the combat skills he so desperately wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boxley I

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to http://rivarminfest.tumblr.com/ for hosting Rivarminfest!
> 
> Warnings for Parts 1 and 2: injury, blood, vomit.

Boxley Village, Maria Territory  
New Humanity, Year 856

Reclaiming the village of Boxley was ambitious. It was the second time that humans had attempted a new wall-and-pit system to keep the titans out and repossess what was theirs.

Boxley's village walls were about halfway completed. The village had a mill, which could be pressed into service to produce flour, or lumber. It was just south of first newly-walled-in plot of land with it's reclaimed river system, known as the 'blister', which had been completed the previous autumn.

Levi's squad and two auxiliary units arrived at the Boxley construction project at sun-up one morning in early spring, 856. The engineering crews and their wagons followed shortly thereafter, once the flare went up signalling the all clear.

The river was swollen and brown; the air was heavy with the scent of thawing turf and morning fires. Trees were knobby with the first buds of spring. There was birdsong, which suddenly stilled.

The attack came at 8:32 a.m., from the east. Later reports identified between twelve and twenty titans; three were over five metres in height, with slow, random movements. The rest were approximately three metres, with long arms, excessively wide mouths, sharp teeth and clawed hands. They moved quickly and of one accord, and their goal was to obliterate the humans that had dared to remake the village of Boxley. This new titan type, the Survey Corps would later dub 'manglers'.

Levi had spent the winter working with his squad. His time spent retraining Armin as a combat soldier had given him pause for thought. He introduced new weapons to his team. One of these was a retractable, two-headed pike. The other was a grappling hook. The horses were fitted with this new gear. And thus, humanity's strongest soldier became the leader of new humanity's first light-armoured cavalry unit.

By the time a red flare went up at 8:47, a crew of six engineers and three horses had fallen to the titans. That left sixty-eight civilians and their horses and donkeys to evacuate. Levi split his squad. One unit, containing Lance Corporal Marco Bott, Eren Jaeger and Sasha Blouse was tasked with herding the engineers and the animals back inside Wall Rose. The second unit, led by Levi Rivaille and containing Mikasa Ackerman and most of the auxiliary forces, engaged the titans from the northeast, defending the blister and the river. The third unit, led by Recon Sergeant Jean Kirschstein and containing Armin Arlert and Connie Springer, tried to draw the titans south, luring them away from the civilians, through Boxley proper and toward the river bridge, where it was hoped they might be halted and pinched by Levi's large force from the rear.

Jean Kirschstein's recon map noted a single, narrow bridge spanning the river, just wide enough for the horses to cross single file, but too narrow for the pursuing titans to cross without being cut down. He urged his large brown mount, Joker, on hard toward the river. These smaller, more vicious titans also seemed to be smarter; they took the shortest routes in pursuit of Jean's fleeing unit, blocking alleyways, smashing obstacles. Several times, the unit had to double back and change course.

At 9:48, all of the titans, seemingly of one mind, turned to follow Jean's unit toward the river.

At 9:56, Jean Kirschstein discovered that Boxley Bridge had been swept away, destroyed by the overflowing spring river and there was no crossing.

"Fuck!" he shouted, hauling on the reins to slow Joker. _"Fuck!!"_

Armin, astride Caesar, was hard on his heels. Armin saw the rotted posts sticking out of the raging brown water. His eyes flashed up and down the bank, seeing no other options. Behind them, the titans were shambling through the narrow village streets and emerging onto the riverbank. Jean knew he could not meet the titans on the open floodplain and survive.

The big Sergeant wheeled Joker around, sent up a red flare and bellowed, _"Charge!"_ leading a wedge formation straight at the monsters and back into the village streets.

Jean looked for a clear street to send the horses northwest, back toward Marco and Sasha's unit. When he found it, he issued the command, "Fly!" and the force under his command took to the skies with a hiss of wires, employing manoeuvre gear.

Levi had trained Armin Arlert well. Nothing existed for Armin except the moment in which he found himself. He flew through the street and the titans' glassy, yellow eyes followed him. Their clawed hands snatched at him. To his alarm, they seemed to…anticipate him like an adversary, rather than exhibiting the random, predatory behaviour he was accustomed to. To Armin's right, an auxiliary soldier leapt behind her titan quarry for a strike. Her blade went wide, and the mangler titan attacked her horse, which went down screaming.

"Kiyaa - git!! Get out of here, boy!" Armin gave the command to Caesar. _Retreat and regroup._ Caesar wheeled to his left, galloping west. Armin's slender form sheared toward a rooftop, touched only briefly, then he launched himself at the exposed neck of a titan. His blade hit clean, bit through and he heard tendons snap, hot gore splashing up at him.

"Thank the flaming fucking Walls..you can kill these things," he muttered. Where was Levi's unit?

He heard a scream to his left. One of the monsters had Jean in its hand and was slamming him against a wall. "No!" Armin leapt onto its shoulder. "Hang on, Kirsch!"

The titan could smell him. Sweet, intrepid, young, small. It dropped Kirschstein like a broken toy and plucked Armin up, attempting to shove him into it's gaping mouth. _Wait…wait…._ Armin told himself. He didn't panic. And at precisely the right moment, he jammed his longpike into the monster's gums, just behind its front teeth. It screamed and tried to close its mouth, driving the pike's other sharp end into its bottom palate and wedging its mouth open.

The beast shook its head. Armin skidded into its row of teeth, his lower back and thigh scraping hard against the fangs. He launched his grapple, throttled the gas and escaped, sprawling, on a rooftop.

Jean had disappeared somewhere in the street beneath him. Horses screamed. The manglers pounded on the building walls, clawing for the tiny humans. Then, the sky darkened, and a roar was heard, above the rushing of the river. The ground shook. The air smelled of steam, flesh and a strange, molten odour which could only mean one thing: Eren Jaeger had shifted into titan form.

Armin tried to stand; his back and right thigh felt red-hot. Looking down, he realized he'd left a bloody imprint on the tile roof where he'd landed.

Down below, people were hollering. Smoke was billowing. Armin hobbled along the roof edge, eyeing the streets. The horses were all gone. They'd obeyed the retreat command. Except for one. Armin dropped to his knees.

"Levi," he called weakly, _"Oh, Levi…"_

Gunshot.

Silence.


	2. Boxley II

The official report on the Boxley conflict would state that nine human lives were lost, along with eleven horses.The Survey Corps was credited with successful evasive action, due in large part to the bravery of Recon Sergeant Jean Kirschstein who led the charge against the titans at the riverbank, forcing them left and right, into the pincers that Captain Levi Rivaille had deployed. When six of the titans doubled back north to attack the civilian line, they were dispatched by titan-shifted Eren Jaeger, who was then able to defend the gate until all were within Wall Rose. Sixty-eight lives were saved. 

 2:32 p.m.:

  _"Aaaarlert…you little shit!!"_ Jean Kirschstein bellowed. "Get over here!" Three medics attended Jean, who was strapped to a table in the surgery, angled at forty-five degrees. The big Sergeant was naked from the waist up, covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes bright with pain. His right arm hung at a grotesque angle from a dislocated shoulder.

Armin hobbled through the busy infirmary and into the surgery. He knew he shouldn't be there; he was still covered in filth from the skirmish, including dark, foul-smelling smears from the mangler-type titan's mouth. His uniform was stuck to his leg and his back, but he wouldn't leave Eren's bedside. Not until the fever-hot skin began to cool, and the horrid stump where his right arm used to be began to pulse and reshape. 

Jean was panting, sandy hair plastered to his forehead. He grinned, reaching up with his left hand to grasp Armin's. "You…." he choked through gritted teeth, "You stupid, stupid little _fucktard,"_ he squeezed Armin's hand, "You kept me on this miserable earth, the least you can do is talk to me while these bastards pop my shoulder back in."

Armin gave Jean a little smile, squeezing the big fist back. "You're welcome," he said.

The doctors, having satisfied themselves as to Jean's position, slipped a brace beneath his back and extended his arm slowly.

"Aaaahhh…Armin…is everyone back yet?"

"No. Mikasa and Levi are still out. And Marco, obviously. Sasha is down at the stables,"

Jean let out a profanity-laced scream. His shoulder snapped back into it's socket. "Fuck! _Fuck you,_ Arlert! You're the one going to be jacking me off until this heals."

_______________________________________

Eren opened his eyes. The world still floated before him as if he were inside a fishbowl; distorted, hazy, green-and-red-tinted. He was still experiencing the hot, static rushes which happened when he titan-shifted to that place he could only describe as _'between'_. He wasn't fully present yet. He closed his eyes.

"Eren?"

"Hmmm?"

"How do you feel? Are you alrig–" the question was cut off by the sound of retching into a bucket.

Eren forced his eyes open. The ceiling swam, bluegreen; the colour the ocean probably was. Armin was there, shimmering in an energy field, his sweetness palpable and intense to Eren in his current state. "Pixie…you look like you're made of _stars_ …"

Armin laughed, spitting into the bucket in his lap, wiping his filthy face. His blue eyes looked shock-bright, peering through the grime. He smelled fetid.

"Oh, do I really? Well you've set the bar fairly low then. I have to go hose off…I just needed to see that you were _oh_ …" he bent over the bucket again. Eren reached up weakly, to hold back the blond hair, only to find he had no hand with which to do it. He snorted.

"W-Why are you sick?"

"Dunno. Nerves." Armin eyed the stump Eren was waving. "Doesn't that _scare_ you?" he asked softly.

"It's not gone," Eren replied woozily. "I can see it. I can see my entire body. _You_ just can't see it. It's not…not _back_ yet. I see all kinds of things when I shift. Is - is everyone alright?"

"Yes," uncertainly. Then: "No. No. Levi…"

_"Levi what?"_

"Don't say anything until the rest return. Levi will be coming. To see Jean."

"Why, Armin?"

"Oh Eren," Armin whispered, tears filling his eyes. "I can't keep it from you, but you mustn't say anything yet…we gave the horses the retreat command when we got into the streets. But Jean got grabbed up by a titan and…and Joker wouldn't retreat…he wouldn't leave Jean..he just ran back and forth. I tried to call him off, and Caesar even tried to herd him, but Jean has had Joker from a colt, so he wouldn't _go_ …" Armin squeezed his eyes shut, his back to the surgery where Jean was being fitted with a sling.

Eren's eyesight was clearing. "Joker?" he repeated.

"Ssshh. There was nothing anyone could do, Eren. He was stomped so badly. He kept lifting his head, looking for Jean, but Jean was unconscious. Levi…" Armin shuddered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "Levi knelt down and petted his head. He spoke to Joker. Levi...he pulled the trigger from behind, so Joker couldn't see…"

"Joker?" Eren repeated softly. Armin gritted his teeth, ignoring the sobs caught in his throat.

"Attention!" was heard at the door. The bedraggled Corps stood for their Captain. Armin struggled to stand, another wave of nausea and dizziness assaulting him. Jean came out of the surgery. He smiled with relief to see Lance Corporal Bott enter, followed by Mikasa Ackerman. Then his smile faded.

Captain Rivaille entered. He had come straight from the field, his green cloak in ribbons, shredded by the claws of some monster. In his hand, he held a leather horse bridle. A hush fell.

Levi approached Jean Kirschstein, who stood tall, maintaining the best salute he could manage with his left arm, eyes forward. Levi stopped in front of Jean, returning salute. He slowly placed the bridle into Jean's trembling hand.

"Sergeant, I am sorry."

"Thank you, sir," Jean snapped off, voice threatening to break. 

"At ease," Levi said quietly. "I will be back soon," he turned and made his way toward the door.

Jean's eyes stared vacantly ahead. He brought his hand up, crushing the bridle to his chest. This wasn't happening…could not be happening. Not on a construction patrol. Not today. Not to his Joker. "Oh no, buddy," he squeezed the bridle in his fist, dissolving into tears. _"Oh buddy, why?…Why?…"_

Levi left the infirmary, beckoning Armin to follow. Outside, he turned, keen eyes looking Armin up and down. The boy was filthy, covered in all manner of things, smelling of vomit and decaying titan, but alive. He faced Levi, hard-faced. "I stuck that pike right in its fucking mouth, boss, just like we drilled."

Levi grabbed the slender shoulders, feral grey eyes boring into Armin's, then closing as he exhaled in relief. "I know you did. You kept your head today, p'tit. You should be dead and so should Jean. But you are alive..alive and disgustingly dirty, and you reek." 

Then, at complete odds with his aversion to both filth and demonstrations, Levi grabbed Armin, holding him in a crushing embrace. "I'm not ready to lose you yet, brat."

"Don't worry about me, boss," Armin wheezed, "I'm fine, I…poor Kirsch…"

Levi felt a sudden deadweight as Armin Arlert collapsed in his arms, eyes rolling back white in his head and foam bubbling from his lips. Levi shouted into the infirmary for the medics.

 


	3. Germania: A Year and a Day

Levi had never felt as utterly helpless as he did during the twenty minutes that followed. Armin was brought into the surgery and laid on his side, as per seizure protocols. His eyes bulged glassily, his small body twitching and shuddering. Levi tried to hold his head still to prevent him from choking. He vomited again, inky black. Within minutes, Chief Science Officer Zoe Hanji arrived and assumed control of the infirmary. The surgeon, Heloise Nerot, spoke to Zoe in quick, low tones.

Eren, Mikasa, and then Commander Smith, appeared in the doorway. When the seizure subsided, quick hands cut Armin's clothes from his small frame, revealing ugly, black boils on his back and thigh where the mangler titan had bitten him. 

When the medics attempted to wash him, unaccountably he began to scream, begging forlornly to Levi to make them stop. "Please _, Levi!_ " he shrieked, _"Please!"_ and he lapsed into a tongue that Eren had certainly never heard. He swore and begged and sobbed. His small wrists and ankles were grabbed and pinioned to the table. Armin screamed, arcing off the table until Hanji jabbed a syringe into his neck.

Eren was crying now, begging Zoe not to hurt Armin, reaching out vainly with his half-formed right hand. Erwin gently restrained Eren, looking pointedly at Levi Rivaille and wondering how it was that Armin had come to scream and curse and cry in ancient Hebrew.

_____________________________________

GERMANIA, ROMAN EMPIRE

9 A.D.

It was unlike any other parley that Roman proconsul Levitus Lucius Calla had ever conducted. He sat astride his black horse, a small, rigid, imposing figure. Flanking him on either side were the disciplined and symmetrical ranks of the 17the Legion of Rome, appointed by Augustus Caesar, and therefore by the gods themselves.

Across the field from the Roman cohort was, as it appeared to Levitus' eye, a milling horde of barbarians. Tall, wheat-blond, bearded warriors bearing garishly painted round wooden shields, thick swords, axes and pikes. They rode sturdy, shaggy ponies that were making quick work of nipping one another.

It amazed Levitus that this tribe, and others like it, had wrested control of half of this province away from Rome. It was now time for a parley; and an agreement would be reached which would enable trade, colonization and coexistence. 

Levitus spurred his horse forward. He rode fluidly, grey hawk-eyes trained on the figure that approached him from the other side. The man was large, blonde, bearded and rode with his horse's reins in one hand. His other arm was missing from just below the shoulder, leaving his woollen sleeve to flap in the breeze. 

The horses met at centre, between the two troop lines.

"Erwiic," Levitus inclined his head. The big Germanic chief circled the proconsul. The proconsul's superbly trained black Arabian held it's ground, neither dancing to one side nor making any sound.

"Roman," returned Erwiic, chief of the Cherusci. "Do you have a child for me?"

Levitus nodded. He looked back toward his line, holding up one hand. The ranks parted, allowing a rider through. Levitus only son, Eren. Skilled, brave, cunning and the most precious soul on earth to Levitus. Eren rode forward, olive-skinned, clear eyed, sitting his horse perfectly, dressed in white trimmed with ermine, as befitted a young Roman nobleman.

Eren drew level with his father, nodding to Erwiic.

The large Germanic chief appraised Eren with cool blue eyes. He was not disappointed. "A year," he said "and a day. A year and a day and you will see your boy again."

Those were the terms. In order to consolidate the fragile peace and curb hostilities, the consul and the chief each exchanged a child of their line, for a year plus a day. 

"Learn all you can," Levitus had told Eren, back at their villa. "Come back to me safe." and he had pressed a long kiss to the boy's smooth brow. 

"I want to go," Eren had said. "Rome wills it, and it is my place to do this. Do not fear for me."

Erwiic whistled sharply. Like large oaks, the teutonic warriors parted ranks, and a little pony trotted out. On the pony was seated a skinny child, his wee legs stuck out to either side of the mount, being too short yet to wrap around the pony's torso. He wore a brown cloak and boots. His hood was pulled up, wisps of hair sticking out, pale as yellow milk. 

Levitus Lucius Calla was immediately on his guard. "Erwiic, what is this?" the proconsul's level tone held a sharp edge.

The chief smiled. "Roman, I give you Armin."

The approaching pony stopped rather abruptly. Without taking his eyes from the Roman, Erwiic reached over, yanking back the little brown hood. 

He was just a little boy. Or at least, he appeared so. He had a small, dirty, heart-shaped face, a little bit of a nose and enormous eyes, the deep blue colour of the Danubius.

"Is this a kind of joke, Erwiic?" the proconsul hissed, nudging his mount forward until his leg nearly touched that of his enemy, bringing him within striking distance.

"Oh, no joke," Erwiic replied, although clearly amused. "I thought that Armin would please you. Or, would you rather have big Alaric, and spend a year and a day wondering if he will slit your throat in your bed?" Erwiic gestured back to his line where three or four huge warriors, clearly his sons, beat their shields and shouted. 

"Armin is as pure in blood as any of them and," Erwiic chuckled, "worth his weight in salt."

It was not because Levitius capitulated that he accepted the boy. Rather, it randomly occurred to him that Erwiic might harm the child if he were to refuse him. He nodded.

_________________________________

VILLA OF LEVITUS LUCIUS CALLA, ROMAN PROCONSUL TO GERMANIA

"Sir?" Levitus' secretary asked nervously, a swarthy man prone to wringing his hands. "If I may ask, what's to be done with the boy?"

Levitus Lucius Calla looked up from his desk in the sunny library of his villa. "Boy?"

"Well, yes. Armin?"

A short bark of amusement. "Oh, yes. The snip of a boy." Levitus pursed his lips, appearing to have forgotten all about his hostage. "Send him to me, I suppose."

The hour was four, by the sundial in the courtyard. Levitus looked up when the boy arrived, his face impassive.

"Do you speak Latin?" he asked the child. Nothing. "You speak German?"

"Ja," 

"Fine," said the Roman in fluent Germanic, "Sit still and don't bother me with questions." and Levitus went back to his letter writing. 

The little boy perched on the edge of a backless chair, looking around the library with wide eyes. After an hour, Levitus told him, "You may leave me now. Go," he flapped his hand without looking up. When he finally raised his head, the boy was gone.

The next day at four, he was presented with the child again. He found this process oddly disconcerting. He regarded the little boy. The child had been washed, he assumed picked over for nits, his spun-sugar hair combed and cut to his shoulders. He wore a little white tunic, shorts and sandals. His small toenails looked like pink seashells. 

Levitus cleared his throat. "You won't get much conversation from me," he said drily.

"I don't mind," the child replied. 

"What is it like, conversing with your father?"

"My father? My father laughs loudly, and often. He plays games."

"Well then I suppose you must be sorely disappointed with me."

"No, proconsul. His laughter is only for my brothers. True warriors. Not for me. So it makes no difference whether I am there or here. It's all the same."

"Huh," Levitus replied.

"Proconsul, by what name would you have me call you?"

"Hmm. By this arrangement we are each to afford the other's child all of the comforts and familiarity of home. However, since you can't very well call me father, you shall call me Levi."

"Levi? Not Levitus?"

"Well, Levitus is my Romanized name. I was born in Jerusalem, and I have lived in Alexandria." 

The little boy stared. Levitus might as well have told him he rode a horse to the moon.

"Well," said the man called Levi, "What do you want to do today? Can you count?"

_________________________________________________

Months passed. Levi found himself looking forward to hearing the clap-clap-clap-clap of Armin's sandals as he ran down the colonnade toward the library. He would look up to find his little ward, apple-cheeked and breathless. He taught Armin to count, to write, and to read simple texts in Hebrew and in Latin.

One rainy afternoon in the library, Armin walked over to the large map table. With some effort Levitus explained it to him. Rivers, hills, encampments, troops. He laid out his wooden troop markers, describing the day of the parley. Then, he laid out another formation, describing a Roman victory. Armin looked at him soberly. Then, his small hands nimbly rearranged the troops, re-enacting another skirmish in which the Romans had not been so lucky. He drew his thumb slowly across his throat.

Levitus laughed. "Yes, Armin, you are quite right. That was a routing!" Armin nodded his head once. The man called Levi was beginning to understand that he wasn't an idiot.

They went riding. Armin was fascinated by the proconsul's hunting falcon. When Levi released the great bird, Armin looked at him, panicked. "Levi, he'll never come back!"

"Yes he will," Levi told him. "He knows that I love him."

Armin knew that Levi was speaking not of the hawk, but of his warrior son, Eren. He grew very quiet.

Levi took him into the courtyard and put a sword into his small hand. "Gladius," he told him.

"Oh," said Armin, who was immediately knocked on his ass. "Ha!" he jumped up, facing Levi. "Again!"

Winter came. The villa was warm, and Levi kept the fires banked. Armin came to him one afternoon.

"I'm thirteen years old," he said. "I can go where I like."

Levi looked at him for a very, very long time. Finally he said, "Sit here." Levi went and pulled a book from his shelves. "If I were you," Levi said carefully, "I should like to go to Alexandria. There, you will find the keenest minds in the world. And more books than you could ever read. And very good dates and nuts, by the way. This is how you get there…"

________________________________________________

Armin galloped across the flatland between two hills, north of the villa. He had grown, if not much larger in a year, then certainly stronger. He wore a blue cloak, Levi's colour. He owned a belt with a scabbard and _gladius_ , and he knew how to use it. The horse was far too large for him, and carried him wildly across the flatland. It was all Armin could do to turn the beast for home. Hours later, he trotted into the villa's courtyard, slid off the mount and laughed aloud.

"Armin!" Levi's voice was like a thunderclap. He was grabbed by the ear and hauled inside, to his bedchamber. He had never seen Levi so angry. Wordlessly, the proconsul stripped off his belt, bent the child over the bed, yanked up the boy's tunic and laid the strap across Armin's bottom and legs. The belt bit like fire.

Finally winded, Levi threw the belt onto the floor and sat down on the bed. "Why on earth, Armin? Why???" he asked, trying to figure out why this bright, obedient child would steal his best Arabian from the stables for a joyride.

Armin wept silently. "Now, in the eyes of Rome I am a thief," he sobbed. You must bring me to justice! I cannot be sent away."

"Oh," the proconsul shut his eyes. The parley was only days away. _A year and a day._

He reached for the broken-hearted boy, gathering the small form into his arms. Armin sobbed and sobbed. "Please, please…I'll be so good! I promise. Please, Levi, don't send me from your side!" and he cried as the sun sunk behind the villa's orchards and the room darkened.

Levi sang softly to him then. It was the saddest, most beautiful tune he'd ever heard. Armin knew it well. Levi sung it often. The song was about a baby who was cast into someplace called the Red Sea, and was fished out by a boatman called Malachi. Armin wanted to know who would throw a baby into the sea. Levi didn't know the answer. 

Levi rocked and sang to this child, who was almost too old for songs and comforts.

Finally, Armin quieted. "I give you the horse," said Levi. "so it's therefore impossible for you to be a thief. The horse is valuable. Take care of him. He will buy you passage on a ship. Enough to get to Alexandria. And you will follow your dreams."

"N-not without you," Armin replied wetly, wiping his eyes.

"Rome's time here wanes," Levi said. "If it is in my power, I will return to Jerusalem. You will find me there. And if not there, then I will dwell in your heart, if you will give me that honour, little Armin."

______________________________________________

_Armin, son of Erwiic was returned to the Cherusci where he dwelt with his people until he departed, at the age of seventeen._

_Five years later, at the death of their father, his brother Alaric attacked the Romans at Teutoberg. The villa of Levitus Lucius Calla was overrun, and the proconsul fell defending it._

_Levitus' son, Eren Lucius, escaped to Gaul where he eventually commanded forces of the 18th Legion of Rome under Tiberius._

_Armin journeyed to Alexandria, where he dwelt until the end of his days, becoming a scholar of some renown. He travelled to Jerusalem four times in his life, each time saying a prayer for the soul of the man he had come to think of as his father._


	4. New York City: The Drayman

"Spit," Zoe Hanji told Eren, handing him a glass receptacle. Eren did.

"More. Honestly, I need as much gob as you've got," Zoe told him.

Zoe Hanji had isolated the type of bite Armin Arlert had received, and, based on her lab work with Eren, two other shifters and a number of less-than-willing titan specimens, she would be able to construct a serum which would reverse the infection. But she needed titan spit. A lot of it.

Armin had quieted. He breathed shallowly, shivering. They had lit the braziers in the infirmary. It was impossible to cover Armin, as the blankets stuck to the ugly, weeping sores.

Levi remained by his side while Eren was busy in the lab with Hanji.  

All he wanted was for Armin to open his eyes; those sweet bluebell eyes that had become adult eyes; focused, hardened, determined. Just as Eren could now open and read any volume from Erwin's library with confidence, so Armin could face Levi in combat drills. In the trees, on the riverbank, in dark alleyways, in the pouring rain. With knife, sword, pike, or barehanded. 

"Please, p'tit," he said quietly, "Please. We aren't finished."

_____________________________________

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY

1866

Armin van Arlert's sensitive ears pricked up. There it was…just beyond the garden wall, in the little alley that ran into the main street. He stood, running along the lawn, nodding. There it was. It was the saddest, most beautiful tune he'd ever heard. Armin knew it well. He jumped up, vainly attempting to see the wagon over the wall. 

"Damn! Dammit!" he sighed. He hummed the tune to himself. Walked back to the sunporch, picked up his violin, and began to play, trying to commit it to memory. He almost had it, but not quite.

"Armin," his grandfather stood in the doorway. "Come inside for your tea, please."

Armin van Arlert was twenty-two years old and a gifted violinist. He performed with the Lower Manhattan Chamber Orchestra, and was booked for private functions. He lived with his grandfather, an importer, on the upper east side of Manhattan. And he was hopelessly enraptured by an elusive piece of music.

Armin was a creature of habit. Routine helped to quiet his mind, which was prone to running riot. He rose at the same time each day, walked to the market and back, and practiced music in the garden in the afternoon. 

Afternoon was the time of day that the drayman drove by. And the drayman sang _that song._ The first time Armin heard it, he thought it was simply a gorgeous accident, never to be repeated. Two days later, sure enough, over the steady clip-clop and creak of the dray cart, he heard the tune again, in the drayman's flat, oddly-haunting voice. About a week after that, Armin walked around the wall and stationed himself at the corner of Lexington Avenue and the alleyway. He waited for the drayman.

No one spoke to the drayman. He worked for the embalmer. He didn't drive a proper dray cart exactly, but rather a flatbed wagon with a shallow box, covered by a wooden lid, painted dark grey. The drayman was called when there was a body that needed transport to the embalmer's, or to an unmarked city plot. Poor folk mostly. Or diseased.

Wealthy people like the residents of Lexington Avenue normally called a hearse to transport their gleaming wood caskets from the visitations held inside their homes to the cemetery. Nobody on Lexington Avenue bothered with the drayman. To them, he was invisible. Until the cholera spread that summer. Then, no one else would come for the bodies.

Armin stood on the corner. Sure enough, the dray cart was shambling up the alleyway. The drayman was perched in the driver's seat. He was a small, wiry man, and he wore a kerchief around his neck, or often over his face. To keep out the sickness, Armin supposed. His hair was black as a crow's wing, roughly cut, and his shoulders were often hunched against the cold or the rain.

The first day Armin saw him, the greeting he'd planned to offer got stuck to the roof of his mouth. The drayman looked absolutely miserable. His eyes were stony, and heavy-lidded. He clucked listlessly to his horse, drove out of the alley and headed down Lexington Avenue. Armin was perplexed. How on earth could such a beautiful, haunting sound come out of such a hunched, foul little man? He sighed, loathe now to approach the drayman to ask about the song. Perhaps some things were just not meant to be.

The following week, the drayman's horse threw a shoe in the alleyway. Armin heard the _clop-clop-clop clink!_ Then he heard some swearing in what was decidedly an Irish accent. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _That explains a lot._ Armin had already decided that the Irish were a musical people, and of course an Irishman would be stuck driving an embalmer's dray cart.

The drayman must have been busying himself with some task or other in the alleyway, because he began to sing the song… _the beautiful song_ , in full, and not just a snippet. The song was about a place called Red Molly's Reach. Something about a boy drowning. It wasn't the lyric that captivated Armin. It was the melody. The key changes were exquisite. He walked around the wall.

The drayman was securing the wagon, holding the thrown shoe in his hand and beginning to lead the horse out of the alleyway. 

"Hello," Armin greeted him.

"Eh?" the thin, rat-faced little man looked up. "Out the way, boy," he ordered tonelessly.

"Uh, yes, Sir. Good day to you," Armin stammered, walking backward as the drayman led the horse forward. "I-I couldn't help hearing your song,"

"You bloody soft-headed, boy?" spat the drayman, "Out me bloody way, I said! _Jay-zus!"_

"Oh, sorry… sorry.." Armin sploshed backward into a puddle, muddying his fine shoes and hose.

He stood in Lexington Avenue, staring after the drayman, and nearly got run over by an ice wagon for his troubles.

_____________________________________

Armin asked his colleagues at quartet practice. He asked his maestro. No one could say for sure that they'd ever heard a song with the words _Red Molly's Reach_ in it. Armin lay awake at night, thinking about it. His bed had fine curtains on it, and his nightshirt was made of french chambray. He should have drifted off to sleep, but he heard it in his head. Seemed to feel it in his bones. He decided that neither humiliation nor intimidation would keep him finding out about it.

It was a blustery night outside the Cricket's Legs, a dirty little pub near the Five Points. The drayman entered the pub. He nodded to a few folk, then went and sat alone, at a table near the back. He was away from the sullen fire and would have dearly loved to warm his bones, but no one ever sat with him, nor ate with him. He was the one that brought the diseased bodies out. He was unclean. The taverner brought him over a mug of thin ale, and a vegetable pie with a few bits of chicken in it. "Levi," he nodded.

The drayman put two coins on the table. He removed the napkin from the tray, laying it carefully across his knee. Taking up the fork, he cut the pie into small pieces and delicately began to eat.

"I'm…I'm so sorry…"

"Un-bloody-believable," the drayman intoned. 

There, interrupting his supper, stood the velvety, poncy boy from Lexington Avenue. The young man wore a white shirt and a bright blue velveteen waistcoat that had a pattern of small birds on it, pinstriped trousers and shoes with silver buckles. His hair, pale gold, was caught back in a tail and tied with a blue ribbon. Indeed, he looked quite like a small bird himself.

"So ye _should_ be sorry," the drayman glared at him, "Sorry for looking like suck a feckin' embarrassment. Clear off,"

"Please, please, Sir. Might I share your table, just for a moment?"

The drayman glowered. Then he ignored Armin and set about his pie and ale.

"But…"

"Feck off, you. I'm busy."

Armin was thoroughly unsure of what to do next. He went to the bar, paid for the drayman's dinner, and went home, having learned nothing more about _Red Molly's Reach_.

___________________________________

Armin persuaded his father to let him borrow the carriage the following night. He parked it outside the Cricket's Legs, hoping the drayman would have his dinner there again. Sure enough, the wiry little man entered the pub and sometime thereafter, exited. Armin followed him back to the stable where his horse was billeted, and apparently, where he also stayed in a room above.

"Wait here," he requested the driver, picking his way into the barn, up the stairs and knocking on the door.

The door opened immediately. A quick hand reached out, pulled him into the room and pushed him up against a wall, while the drayman slammed the door shut with his foot.

"I," said the angry, frightening and surprisingly strong little man, "am becoming well and truly sick of you. _What the fuck d'you want?_ "

"I - uh…."

"What? Have you some dirty little job that wants doing? Looking for opium?" the little man with the riveting, stony eyes sneered at him, "Looking for a whore? _Are_ you a whore?"

"No!" Armin yelped, petrified but pressing on, "I-I-I'm not a whore. I'm a violinist. See?" he held open his spread hand, pearly callouses cresting the mounts of his fingers. "Look, please…I… _please_. I'm begging you. Please. Let me play for you. _Please_ …."

The man let him go. Armin gave a palpable sigh of relief, past caring what this man thought of him, or even if he robbed or shanked him, as long as he got what he came for.

He looked around. The drafty room was wretchedly poor, but well swept, and didn't smell all that bad. The little bed was neatly made, and three chipped teacups stood at attention on the shelf.

"D'you want tea?" the drayman asked, without much interest.

"Why yes, thank you," Armin opened his violin case. He strummed the strings; G-D-A-E. He took out his bow, tightening it, applying resin. The man put an iron kettle on the stove.

"You want to get robbed or buggered or worse, walking around these parts like a puffed ponce," the man commented. _"Jayzus_ , you're well old enough to get a plain grey suit cut for yerself."

If this was what passed for conversation, Armin was going to go with it. "I'll bear it in mind," he said. He lifted the violin under his chin and began to play.

It was all he'd been able to piece together of the haunting and beautiful tune, _Red Molly's Reach_. The violin sang softly in the cramped little room, swelling, and ebbing, like the sea.

When he lowered the instrument, the drayman was gaping at him, tears running down his thin face, not moving a muscle. Finally he said softly, "Who in Jay-zus name are you, to come up in here and play for a wretched nobody?"

"My name is Armin van Arlert. And as I've mentioned and hopefully now demonstrated, I'm a musician. And I beg… _no, I entreat you_ …please teach me the rest of that tune."

The drayman got up, pouring boiling water into a teapot. He laid out the tea. "I've no sugar," he said.

"It's okay," Armin hardly dared to breathe, in case the drayman changed his mind.

"Red Molly's Reach. 'Tis about a wee boy what drowned in a bay called Red Molly's Reach, back home. Some folk say that tune came from Spain. Spanish sailors that wrecked off the Irish coast. And the Spanish got it from the Moors. Or some such. Don't fuckin' rightly know. I just fancy it."

"Will you sing it? In full?"

"Give us a swallow of tea at least," and the drayman's eyes looked far into the distance and he began to sing. The fine hairs on Armin's arms stood on end, listening. The second chorus, Armin tentatively followed the melody on his violin.

__________________________________

So, it came to pass in the year that followed, when the drayman's cart rolled down the alley, Armin would halt his practice scales and he would play Red Molly's Reach. Sometimes, he took his violin and went 'round to the drayman's for an evening of music and tea out of chipped teacups. Other times, in summer, Levi would step into the van Arlerts' fine garden for a few minutes, mop at his brow, and accept a glass of lemonade. 

Armin van Arlert went down to the lower east side, and ordered himself a bespoke tailored mens' suit, in sensible grey.

___________________________________

Cholera spares no one, rich or poor, and thus the day came when Armin's grandfather fell ill with fever after visiting some warehouses at the docks and drinking water there. He died soon afterward. The drayman came to the back of the house. He wore a scarf over his face. Another man was with him. Carefully, they bore the body of Armin's grandfather into the dray cart. Armin collapsed on the hall stairs, sobbing.

The drayman stood in the hall. He swallowed. "I know you want to lay him out here at home. Ye just can't, son. Isn't safe. Embalmer will do a good job. Come round on Monday, he'll sort you out."

"Thank you," Armin took the drayman's hand.

Armin's aunt and cousin came to live with him on Lexington Avenue. After his grief had lifted, Armin put pen to staff paper and composed the first formal arrangement of _Red Molly's Reach._ When he went to credit the composer, he realized he didn't even know Levi the drayman's last name. He resolved to ask him.

But the cart didn't come the next day. Nor the day after that. After a week, Armin began to fret.

He went down to the embalmers, where a man with an underbite and a monocle took him into a little back room. 

He didn't need to look inside the pine box.  His heart broke.

A light dusting of snow was falling the afternoon that Levi the drayman was laid to rest. He was attended by the parish priest, Armin van Arlert, his aunt and cousin, and the taverner from the Cricket's Legs. At the conclusion of the prayer, and in lieu of a hymn, Armin lifted his violin, and played Levi's modest gift to the world: _Red Molly's Reach._

____________________________

_Red Molly's Reach by Levi O'Rivaleen reached the height of it's popularity in the 1880's, and again during the folk music revivals of the 1960's. The tune migrated north, becoming a popular favourite with Acadian fiddlers and maritimers._

_Armin van Arlert became a darling of New York society, accomplished first chair of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra and raised money for the refurbishment and sanitation of New York City's waterworks. Until the end of his days, he considered drayman Levi O'Rivaleen to be one of his dearest friends._


	5. San Francisco: How To Save Your Own Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this chapter is sexually explicit, and tags have changed accordingly...smut in the sweetest possible way...

HAIGHT-ASHBURY, SAN FRANCISCO

Summer, 1979

 _Don't come back,_ she had said.

He hadn't replied.

 _At least, you need to know that if you do, we won't be here._ Francie Ackerman had stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray at the kitchen table. 

It was the 'we' that had bothered him. _Eren and Micky are sixteen_ , he had said, rather pointlessly.

She'd been crying and her voice was still teary. _Oh,_ she said bitterly. _I'm so sorry, Levi. The twins are sixteen. Of course. You want to start being their father now?_

It wasn't their first fight. It was just the same fucking fight, over and over again. 

Francie was a beautiful girl. When she cried, her lipsticked mouth looked ugly to Levi though, like a red slash. He knew that thought was unkind. 

_Is anything I'm saying getting through to you Levi?_

_I'm not a fucking robot, Levi._

_What is it? Is it work? Are you stressed?_

_Is there something wrong with you, Levi?_

_I don't know._ The words that always made her want to claw at his face.

_And you know, Rotary has become hell on earth, Levi. My friends all complain that their husbands won't leave them alone. I wish. I fucking wish, Levi. I could handle it if you were just an asshole, Levi. An impotent asshole who won't say a goddamn word to me is too fucking much. I've had enough, Levi. I deserve better._

She did.

And that's why this was all so backward. God obviously didn't get the memo, because his estranged brother, Julian, had keeled over dead of a stroke last week, and here he was, very much alive, sitting in a rented Impala outside Julian's ranch-style house in San Francisco, chain-smoking. A wandering Jew in a cheap grey suit.

Levi gazed out of the front windshield with a thousand-yard stare. Turned the car off.

He opened the garden gate and walked up the front steps. The house was modern, and stark. The door was ajar and the radio was on.

"Hello?"

Levi went inside. The house was flooded with light, bright and airy. Teak wood. Thick shag carpets. Hits of lime green. It was the furthest thing imaginable from the cramped Long Island kitchen where it's occupant had grown up.

_Ma, please._

_Get out, Julian!_

_Ma, listen to me…listen!!_ His grown brother Julian had been sobbing. Bawling. It had disgusted Levi, listening from the landing because he'd been told to go to his room. He'd been embarrassed for Julian. And _of_ Julian.

 

"I waaaant you to want me…I need you to need meeee…." Levi raised an eyebrow. Cheap Trick was playing on the radio. And someone was singing.

"Hello?" Levi stepped further into the house, which seemed not to have any distinctly-defined rooms…all of the spaces just flowed together. There was a stylish kitchen with frosted glass cupboards, and an island that seemed to float in the middle of the room.

"Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I, see you cryin'?"

_"Hello!!!"_

The boy popped up from behind the kitchen island, holding a wineglass in one hand and a wad of newsprint in the other. "Oh!"

A young guy, maybe a shade over twenty. A California boy, Levi decided immediately. Shoulder length blond hair, the front part of which was tied back with a little girl's hair tie. The kind with two round plastic beads on a loop. Baby-faced, lightly tanned. He smiled brilliantly, reaching over to turn down the radio.

"Hey," he said. "You must be Levi."

When he made no move to shake hands or exchange any other civilities, Levi, somewhat nonplussed said, "Sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Sorry?" The young man opened the fridge, removed a pitcher and poured a glass of ice water. The pitcher had yellow lemon rounds floating in it. The young man reached across the island and set it in front of Levi.

"I'm Armin. My condolences about Jules. Want to sit down? You look awful."

Levi stared. In one sentence, this strange little elf had offered condolences, insults, an introduction and a refreshment. He sat on the chrome barstool at the island.

"How do you know that I'm Levi?"

The boy laughed, a light sound, not unkind.

"You mean apart from the Long Island accent and the pasty skin and the bags under your eyes?"

The boy opened two more cupboards, reaching up to grab more glasses. He wore faded brown corduroy cutoffs and a yellow smile t-shirt. The t-shirt was short, riding up to reveal a half-moon of smooth back as he reached up. He had a sweet, round, spectacular ass. 

"Can I ask…Armin? What exactly are you doing here?"

The boy turned. "Oh," He set the glasses on the counter. "Well, I guess I'm getting the house ready for you," he said quietly. "It's yours now, isn't it? You're Jules' next of kin. It's all yours."

"And I guess those aren't my wine glasses?"

"No," and this was said guardedly. "They're Sebby's." the boy looked up. He had devastating blue eyes to match his devastating ass. "I'm here to get Sebby's things."

Levi was beginning to wish he had a notepad. He rubbed his temples tiredly.

"So you're not…"

When he left the sentence hanging, Armin finished: "Jules' lover? Oh, no! No…Jules and Sebby live here. Lived here…" he trailed off.

"But," Levi wet his lips. "You are…you're…"

"Oh, yes," Armin laughed brightly, offering Levi a flourishing bow, "One very, very queer boy at your service!"

Levi was transfixed. "I need to take a piss."

"Down the hall, turn right," said Armin, beginning to carefully roll the wineglasses into newspaper.

______________________________________

The bathroom was cream and tangerine. The wallpaper was a garish zig-zag pattern that made Levi incredibly anxious. He tried to force himself to piss.

When he had finished and washed his hands, he wandered into the living room. There were pictures. His brother, and a thin, sandy-haired man with round eyeglasses. Julian had put on weight. His hair was greying. Again, God fucking up the instructions. Levi was the one who should, by all rights, have a head full of grey hair, instead of jet black. There were huge, framed posters on the wall, for movies that Julian had worked on. The credits read: _Julian W. Ackerman, Cinematographer._  

Levi noted, compulsively, that everything was orderly, except for islands of cardboard boxes, deposited here and there by Armin no doubt. 

There was a fireplace, the surround of which was rounded and covered in white tiles which extended to the ceiling. The shag rug, also white, was so thick that Levi's worn loafers were half-buried in it.

"I am yours, you are mine, you are what you areeee…" Armin was singing in the kitchen again.

Levi roamed through the house, with mounting curiosity. It was a split level. There were music speakers mounted throughout the house. Crosby, Stills & Nash faded, and then some east coast music began to play. Acadian fiddle music. Levi's mouth quirked in a small smile. He wandered on. Further to the back, he happened upon a brightly lit, yellow office. It held books, a curved desk and - giving Levi a fright at first - a dentist's chair. The diploma on the wall filled him in: "Sebastian Weinstein, Orthodontist."

He laughed aloud…unable to stop himself from hearing his mother's voice in his head, _Gawd, at least he picked someone Jewish!_ Fascinated, he stole down the hall, finding himself in the master bedroom. It was painted Santa Barbara white, had curved walls, a king-sized bed, and looked out over the gleaming bright blue of a swimming pool.

For some unknown reason, Levi took off his shoes. He was beginning to feel odd. Tight in the chest. Maybe he'd keel over and have a stroke, just like Julian did. On the golf course. Last Monday. Playing golf with his orthodontist lover, in California. Julian had been buried within 24 hours. He hadn't been able to fly out in time. There was to be a - what did they call it - a Celebration of Life next week. 

"Are you okay?" A soft voice at his shoulder.

"I'm not sure…" Levi tugged absently at his tie, undoing his top button and sitting on the bed. "This music is…" 

Armin's delightful laugh again, "A cassette tape. Sea Shanties," he explained. "Jules loved east coast music. "He loved this one…it's so sad. Listen…I think it's called…"

" _Red Molly's Reach._ I-I know it…" Levi whispered. It was the saddest, most beautiful tune he'd ever heard; his favourite song in the world. And it was beckoning him, unlocking him in a fierce way that had nothing to do with coastal waters, and everything to do with the heady, blue eyes of this boy.

"Levi? Do you want an aspirin or something? You do look…" Armin knelt in front of  him, an act which made Levi's pulse race.

"I know, awful. You've said."

"I meant worn out. Burned out. Empty. Not awful…I think," the boy breathed, "I think you look very nice,"

Armin studied Levi's fine-featured face. His haunting grey eyes, fine brow and chin, sporting yesterday's dark stubble. A lock of dark hair fallen forward over his brow.

"It's going to get better now," the boy soothed, "you'll see," and with that, he leaned in and delicately, almost reverently, kissed Levi softly on the mouth. He sat back on his heels, taking Levi's hand in his own. 

Levi tried to speak, and what came out was a hoarse sound. "Armin. Oh, Armin, I'm not…" _Gay._

"Oh, that's okay," Armin smiled. "I don't mind." Armin leaned forward and kissed him again. He smelled like sunblock and tasted like orange Kool-aid. Levi moaned, rocked to his core. He pulled Armin closer, arms going around the slender boy and pried the sweet mouth open with his tongue as though he were dying of thirst. WIthout breaking the kiss, he pulled Armin up off the carpet, and into his lap.

Levi's entire body was throbbing, his limbs shaking. He placed his palms on Armin's torso, pushing the smile t-shirt up under the boy's arms. He broke the kiss off, gasping. Armin cocked his head to the side, with patient curiosity, fingers playing lightly in Levi's black hair. Levi leaned forward, very slowly, and touched the tip of his tongue to the pink nipple on the boy's chest. His tongue circled it, slowly, lightly. Armin made the sweetest, horniest, softest sound Levi had ever heard in his life. 

Levi didn't understand why his throat was suddenly full of thorns, or why the room swam until the sob broke from his lips. He placed his face against the boy's skinny chest and wept; ragged, wrenching, horrible sobs, like a wounded animal. He wept for Julian; for the happy, fruitful, colourful life that was cruelly yanked away from him. He wept out of frustration, humiliation, and rage. He wept over Francie, whom everyone wanted to fuck except him, and his confused, distant kids. He wept at the heartbreaking irony of being called broken and empty - so rightly - by a sweet, golden-haired boy with come-fuck-me blue eyes that he'd known for ten minutes and now had in his lap, pressing against a raging hard-on that had come out of nowhere. He wept until Armin's chest was slicked with snot and tears and his throat was raw. Armin had one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other cradling his head, and he rocked in Levi's lap, rhythmically, until the afternoon shadows stretched across Julian and Sebby's bedroom and Levi stopped crying.

He heard the tinkle of the beaded, mother-of pearl ornament that hung against one wall of the bedroom. He felt Armin's smile t-shirt, being offered to him to wipe his face.

Armin got off of him, went into the bathroom and came back with a cool cloth.

"Thank you," Levi looked up. "I apologize. I'm sorry. That was awful. Things are…" he drifted off.

"Going to get better now," Armin said softly.

Levi slept.

_____________________________________

When Levi Ackerman awoke, he stopped Armin from wrapping wineglasses and picked up his car keys. They locked the door, got into the rented Impala and drove to Pacific Heights. There, they knocked on the door of a house with a swirled iron front gate, and were shown into a back garden.

The garden contained a thin man wearing a polo sweater, with sandy hair and little round glasses, sitting in a lawnchair. He stood up, opening his arms and embracing Armin. 

The man wept. He excused himself, blowing his nose into a handkerchief. Armin introduced him to Levi Ackerman. The man held out his hand, "Sebastian Weinstein," he said. At the same time, both men tried to awkwardly exchange condolences.

"I'm staying here with my sister for a few days," Sebby explained, "just until I can arrange for an apartment. I have asked Armin to pack my things. I…I just can't face the house. Not right now."

"Well, I hope that changes," Levi said quietly, placing an envelope onto the table. "Julian and I were strangers," he said. "I'm sure I'm not telling you anything that you don't know."

"He loved you," replied Sebby.

"I'll never know," Levi said. "But clearly, he loved you."

"We were together for twenty-one years," Sebby looked at Levi.

"Well," Levi cleared his throat, "the house apparently was in his name. And therefore, apparently it's now in my name. And I honestly don't know how that makes any sense. You'll be hearing from my lawyer shortly, so that the deed can be transferred to you. It's your home. And I'm sorry for this inconvenience, on top of the pain of your deep loss."

He would lie to Francie. He would tell her that Dr. Weinstein already owned the house. Then, he would give her the house in Long Island. And her freedom. 

_Levi Ackerman, have you lost your mind?_

_______________________________________________

They stopped at a taco stand for some dinner and sat at a plastic picnic table. 

"So," Armin looked Levi over mischievously, "Salesman, right?"

Levi nodded. "Insurance."

Armin groaned.

"And you?" Levi asked.

"Guess. I'll give you a head start…I'm either an actor, a drifter, a gigolo or a student."

"I think you're a little of all of those," Levi told the boy.

Armin laughed. "I just finished my fourth year at Cal Tech. Computers." 

Now it was Levi's turn to laugh. "So, how do you know my brother?"

"Guess again," the blue eyes twinkled. "Maybe it was a fabulous gay party? Maybe I was his pool boy?" Armin grinned widely.

Under the table, Levi captured Armin's legs inside both of his own. "I don't know."

"Sebby was my orthodontist!"

_______________________________

Levi dropped Armin back off at the house, as Armin had permission to stay over and reverse all of his packing-up. Levi walked him to the door, and they entered the dark hallway.

Armin turned, about to say something, and found himself flattened up against the wall, Levi Ackerman's lips and teeth nipping gently at his throat, his jaw, his cheek and then pressing hot, urgent kisses into his pliant mouth.

"Do…ah…do you want to come in?" Armin gasped. Levi slammed the door and gathered the boy into his arms, Armin's legs wrapping around his hips. He flopped onto the white shag rug in the living room, Armin beneath him. He looked at the boy. "This is stupid," he gasped.

"Okay," Armin agreed sweetly. "It's stupid."

Never. He'd never given himself permission. Permission to look at, to covet, to touch another man's body. Julian had done it, and their mother had wailed about unborn grandchildren and thrown him out of the house. Julian had disgraced them. _Well,_ Levi had thought at the time, _I'll make up for it._ And he'd married, bought a house, produced grandchildren, went to work and hid in his cubicle, tortured his wife with sexual neglect, and nearly died of loneliness.

Now, on this muggy summer night in San Francisco, he finally let go. He looked at Armin. By what twist of fate was he allowed to even touch this beautiful, wild boy? To kiss another man, to run his hands over the angular lines of his young body, under his t-shirt, along his back and chest. Over his taut ass, the faded corduroy soft under his palms as his hands cupped, squeezed and Armin panted like a kitten. The boy not only allowed him this privilege, he _wanted_ Levi. 

"Armin," he shook his head, "God, I don't have a fucking clue, you know?"

"It's okay, it's cool," Soft, sweet.

Armin rolled them over, peeling Levi out of his suit jacket and working at the buttons of his powder-blue shirt. He bared Levi's upper body, reaching up and pulling an assortment of pillows onto the floor, laughing.

"What…what was my brother like?"

"Jules?" Armin smiled fondly. "Funny, stupid, neat-freak, brilliant. He never lost his _New Yawk_ accent. He was happy. He loved his life."

Levi closed his eyes. He smiled. Armin's nimble, pink little mouth had found his collarbone, his chest, his nipples. 

Armin's  tongue rasped, circled, flicked. "Do you like that? Not everyone likes the same thing."

"Yes."

They lay side by side, their kisses deepening, slowing until the boy was whining openly and Levi could barely breathe. Levi slid his hand down inside the back of Armin's shorts, caressing his smooth ass.

"You want to touch me?"

"God, yes. I just don't know what to…"

Armin rolled onto his back, popping the button of his shorts. Levi looked at him, a pale angel lying on the rug, outlined in streetlight.

"Put your hand in my pants," Armin whispered, "Please, Levi."

Levi's fingers grazed the boy's erection, lightly, through his shorts. He slid his hand tentatively over the smooth belly, then inside the waistband of the boy's underwear. "That's it," Armin breathed encouragement, "Touch my cock…"

It felt hot. Hot and hard and silky. "Y-you can pull my shorts down…"

It was so erotic, so compelling, these breathy instructions that fell from Armin's lips. Levi tugged the shorts and underwear over the narrow hips.

Levi took Armin in his hand. He tried to think about the ways in which he touched himself, what he liked. He brushed his thumb over the smooth head, finding it slick with precum. 

"Mmm…wet," he whispered. Tentatively, he rubbed his fingers up and down the tender underside of Armin's shaft, captivated by the sweet and incredibly needy sounds the boy was making. 

"You like that, baby?" Levi said softly, "Am I doing it right?"

"God…yes…." Armn gasped. Then, "Stop…'kay? I don't want to…n-not yet…"

He raised himself up, leaning over Levi and tugging off Levi's suit trousers. 

"Fuck," he said, "you have a beautiful body, for an old guy."

Levi stared up at the greenish pools the streetlights made on Julian's ceiling. The boy lay on the rug perpendicular to him, on his belly, the sweet slope of his back and his beautiful, round arse on display. His fingertips grazed Levi's abdomen, tracing the line of dark hairs that ran from his navel down into his briefs. Armin touched his lips to Levi's thick cock, through his white cotton briefs. He squeezed the shaft between his lips, rubbing his cheek and small nose against the bulge. He wriggled his tongue into the slit in the front of the briefs, finding the hot, salty hardness of Levi's shaft, licking hungrily.

"Oh, Jesus...Armin…." Levi's balls tightened, pleasure pooling in his groin, heart pounding.

The busy tongue poked and wriggled and lapped at him through the slit, making his cock twitch helplessly. Armin wrapped his lips around the mushroom-shaped head, massaging and sucking greedily through the cotton until the fabric was soaked and smeared with saliva and precum. Levi squirmed, hot and helpless. Armin dipped his tongue under the waistband of the briefs, pushing Levi's throbbing head out the top, sucking it into his mouth, moaning. The boy's legs drifted apart as he rutted softly against the rug, small buttocks flexing. Levi was pretty sure the sight would kill him.

Armin crawled up alongside him, pressing nakedly against Levi, grabbing his face and kissing him softly, heatedly. 

"Taste," he whispered. Levi did.

Armin whispered Levi's name against his lips, the vibration soft, "Levi… _Levi_..." 

"Mmm?"

"Will you fuck me? Because I want you to fuck me…"

"I don't think my heart can take fucking you… _God_...of course I want to fuck you…"

"Wait…" Armin disengaged himself and left the room, and Levi felt a rush of cool air on his skin. Armin returned with something in his hands.

"Sit up," he said gently. Put you back against the couch…let me straddle you, okay?"

Levi nodded, throbbing need and sheer panic warring in his gut. 

"It's okay, it's okay," Armin panted. He squeezed lubricant from a little tube into his hand, straddled Levi Ackerman, and sunk his fingers into his own ass, crying out sweetly.

"Ah! You c-can do it next time…I'll show you how…I'll… _oh_ ," he bobbed up and down, riding his fingers, stretching himself, moaning.

...……Next time?

Armin tore open the little square package. Gently, and carefully, he rolled the condom onto Levi's weeping, aching prick. Levi's hands slid up to hold Armin's hips, tentatively.

"Easy," Armin cautioned, "it's not like a chick…you have to start more gently, just like…" he positioned himself over Levi's erection, bearing down gently, rocking a bit. There was some resistance, and then Levi was gripped inside the tight, silky heat of the boy's body.

"Oh Christ," Armin moaned. Slowly and languidly, he rode Levi's cock. "See?" he gasped, "You're fucking me…fucking me…"

Levi's grip tightened on Armin's hips, holding him still. His breath came in harsh gasps, and he thrust up firmly into the younger man, wringing a cry from Armin. He set a pace that was quicker, rougher, his hips slapping against Armin's ass until the boy was a squirming, begging mess, cock bouncing and twitching.

"Now," Levi growled, spanking the rounded backside, " _Now_ , I'm fucking you, little boy…"

Armin angled his hips forward, spine arching as Levi's thrusts hit the sweet bundle of nerves inside his body. "Oh…oh, _there!"_ he moaned, "There! God! _Give it to me_ …just like that…"

The boy shuddered, his knees spreading wider. Levi reached for the little tube, squeezing crazily all over his own belly. He ran his hand through the slick and grasped Armin's pretty cock, getting him off with fast, firm strokes. 

Armin braced his hands on Levi's shoulders, sobbing with pleasure as he came, splashing hotly onto Levi's belly.

"Armin…baby…." Levi bucked beneath Armin, body throbbing exquisitely, coming inside him with a hoarse cry, "Now… _now_ …"

After, he held the sweating, hot, boneless, beautiful creature against his chest, on the shag rug, in his dead brother's living room, silent tears burning his cheeks.

_________________________________________________

_The summer of 1979 saw San Francisco rally in the wake of Harvey's Milk's assassination, paving the way for a new era of civil reform. It was a time of change, of questioning, and redefining family._

_To Levi Ackerman, it was the summer he saved his own life._

_Levi moved to San Francisco. He became a political activist, writer and journalist. Later, with the advent of social media, he hosted one of the first weblogs on social justice, or as they came to be known, "blogs"._

_After earning his masters degree in computer programming from Cal Tech, Armin Arlert landed a job with a little firm out of Cupertino, California called Apple Inc._

_In 2009, in the State of California, Pulitzer prize winning journalist Levi Ackerman married his longtime lover, Armin Arlert in a simple backyard ceremony, attended by loved ones, including his twins, Eren and Micky._

_They lived happily for the rest of their days._

 


	6. Epilogue

SURVEY CORPS INFIRMARY  
New Humanity, Year 856

"Crying…someone's crying…" Armin murmured. His mouth felt hideous, dry and thick.

"Nobody's crying," Levi said flatly, dashing at his eyes.

Armin's eyes fluttered open, stinging, crusty.

"Boss," he croaked.

Levi held Armin's head up, nudging a glass of water to his lips. "Try,"

Armin sipped obediently. "I'm hot," he said. "Where's Eren?"

"He is having his restorative sleep, from shifting, right now. You tired him out. And everybody else, too."

"I got sick," Armin whispered tearfully.

"You're going to get better now. Hush, p'tit. I am here."

Levi stroked Armin's blond hair, soothing him. He bent his head, kissing the heated brow.

Then, in the quiet of the dark, empty sickroom, he began to sing softly.

It was the saddest, most beautiful tune Armin had ever heard.


	7. Music Notes

The story part about the drowning boy plucked from the sea is my own invention.

However, the lyrics from Sense of Touch are Welsh, their meaning is below. It fits my rivarmin, too...

1\. Full many a time I came to woo,  
Oft, Lisa came a courting you;  
I kissed your lips when we did meet,  
No honey every was so sweet.

2\. My dainty branch, my only dear,  
No woman comes your beauty near;  
'Tis you who with my passion play,  
'Tis you who steals my life away.

3\. When'er at eve I walk apart,  
Like wax will melt my lovesick heart;  
And but to hear the small birds sing,  
The longing to my soul will bring.

4\. Ah, will you come to bid good-bye,  
When in the earth my form must lie?  
I hope you too will there be found,  
When men shall lay me in the ground.

Thank you so very much for taking the time to read the story.


End file.
